Cristina Odone is a journalist, novelist and broadcaster specialising in the relationship between society, families and faith. She is the director of communications for the Legatum institute and is a former editor of the Catholic Herald and deputy editor of the New Statesman. She is married and lives in west London with her husband, two stepsons and a daughter. Her new ebook No God Zone is now available on Kindle.

The princes' pal is ruining my neighbourhood

Guy Pelly has just organised Prince William's stag party. He is the princes' pal – the one who accompanied Harry to the party where the younger princeling dressed up as a Nazi officer (as one does); and the one whom, according to rumours, Kate Middleton warned Wills against. But when he's not entertaining the Royal family, Guy Pelly is playing his own special part in the trashing of my neighbourhood.

I live at the grungy end of the King's Road in Chelsea. "Grungy" because we have three nightclubs, cheek by jowl, at the end of the road. One of these, called Public, was launched by Pelly in December; the other two, Rumi and Embargo, have been around for years.

The nightclubs – and Public can boast of a clientèle that includes the princes, the Middleton sisters, and Princesses Eugenie and Beatrice – are open on week nights (no need to worry about showing up at work with a hangover for the Pelly crowd, you understand). The noise they make is such that some locals have invested in double-glazing. And one young couple has decided to leave their rented flat because they cannot put up with it any longer.

Noise is one thing. Residents have been forced to live with far worse: couples copulating at dawn, girls urinating in the street, vomit on their doorsteps, used condoms on the pavement, bouncers yelling and shouting. A disabled local resident cannot use his electric wheelchair on the pavement as it is crowded with patrons; frequently they hurl abuse at him, like, "Here comes Nigel Mansel!". The disabled bay at the end of the road is constantly in use – by very able patrons. Local children play in the street littered with broken bottles from last night's binge.

It took my neighbour Vicky Marlow, whose flat overlooks the night club premises, three months of ringing and emailing the Licensing Department of Kensington and Chelsea council before Fiona Johnson, from the Department, finally gave her the number for the out-of-hours line for the Noise and Nuisance team.

Exasperated, a group of neighbours asked to meet with the clubs' owners/managers. Howard Spooner, one of Public's owners (Companies' House shows that the club is owned by King's Road Clubs Ltd, a dormant company whose only named director is Mr Spooner) showed up with members of management, a lawyer and a "consultant". At one point, notes show, a neighbour pointed out that the clubs' patrons had been jeering at the disabled local resident. Mr Spooner explained that this is "human nature". Among Public's patrons, perhaps. But our neighbours were up in arms about his attitude. Public's neighbours are wondering what Mr Spooner would do if he were to find vomit on his own doorstep.

Following the unsatisfactory meeting, Keith Mehaffy from the Environmental Health Department advised the residents to "keep collecting evidence". This meant that they should take photos, films, keep a log, and report all this back to the Council. (When Vicky Marlow tried to film the goings-on at 1 am outside her window, someone threatened her, "Stop filming. I know where you live.")

The Council also explained that if residents wanted to convince it of noise pollution, they would have to invite a member of the Noise and Nuisance team into their home to hear it for themselves. Given the hours involved, this meant sacrificing a night's sleep. (And in one neighbour's case, she and her husband had to wait more than half an hour for the crack team to confirm that indeed they would show up at some point that night.)

Now the residents' association has moved to apply for a licensing review of Public's premises. Unfortunately, the neighbour who spearheaded this application found her name and address on a plastic council notice attached to three lamp posts near the clubs. She's worries that when a client drunkenly stumbles outside, he might catch sight of the notice, note her address a few doors down and decide to give the old cow who's threatening his fun a lesson.

Their hope rests with the Licensing Committee. Their strongest suit is the safety of the disabled and children in the neighbourhood. Will it be enough?